Allergic
by TwistingMoonbeam
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 OF TMP&SS. An alternative version for the season 3 finale. As it turns out, Sherman's allergy is way more life-threatening than the Guapos thought...and Mr. Peabody is NOT happy. R&R!


_**NOTE:**_ Spoilers below for the season 3 finale of the Mr. Peabody and Sherman show!

 **Allergic**

"Now _ride_!"

Mr. Peabody teetered under the weight of Jose Guapo. He could hear Maria Garcia cheering for them from the audience, but even he knew they had a slim chance at winning their show - and their penthouse - back.

The last few hours had been harrowing, to say the least. The Guapo brothers popping up next door, having their meeting with the President of Television herself, and now Mr. Peabody and Sherman were engaged in a grueling battle for their show _and_ their home. The odds certainly weren't in their favor, as the Guapo brothers were in their element with the contest being bull riding, and Mr. Peabody's boy had been pushed to the front line, in being the bull rider for their team. Mr. Peabody had to admit: he was nervous.

But even under Jose Guapo's enormous weight and in the embarrassing - not to mention _unflattering,_ couldn't the Guapos see dark red wasn't Mr. Peabody's color? - bull costume, the dog felt a smidgen of hope as he watched Sherman ride Hose B Guapo.

"Toro! Toro!" the smaller Guapo brother shouted with a shrill giggle.

"Weeee!" Sherman cried. "This isn't so tough! I could do this all day." He lounged back in his place between Hose B's bull horns, nonchalant.

"You're...doing...great...Sherman!" Mr. Peabody managed. Although it sounded forced, Mr. Peabody meant his words. His boy was doing a fine job on his end of the contest. If he could just knock Jose off, they could win!

"Hey, say, Hose B," Jose called from atop Mr. Peabody. "I think it's time to pick up the pace!"

Concern flurried through Mr. Peabody. Hose B began to jump and gallop faster about in the ring. The confidence melted from Sherman's face as his hands visibly tightened around the horns, his glasses bouncing off his nose.

"Hold on, Sherman!" Mr. Peabody himself was trembling as holding up Jose became more and more impossible. But they could still win - they _had_ to win!

Regardless of the raise in difficulty, Sherman was still holding on to Hose B with all his might. _Come on, come on,_ Mr. Peabody thought, putting all of his strength into throwing off Jose. _Get off my back, you audience-stealing sham of a cowboy!  
_ "Buh - say there, Hose B," Jose said suddenly, his tone taking a dark turn. "Looks like lil' Shermy-schwamy there could use a little pick-me-up!"

Mr. Peabody's stomach dropped. _What?_

"Hooo, good thinking', Jose," Hose B replied, his eyes shifty. "Hey, lil' buckaroo, try some of this!" He handed Sherman a water bottle filled with some chunky red liquid.

Before Mr. Peabody could tell Sherman not to, Sherman gave a hearty, "Gee, thanks!" and took a big gulp from the bottle, downing all of his contents. A mere moment later, Sherman's face started to glow a scary, fire engine red. Between coughs, he asked, "What's in this stuff?"

Hose B smiled, and it shook Mr. Peabody to the core. "Salsa!" the man replied in glee.

Panic swarmed Mr. Peabody. Alarms were going off in his head, his paternal instincts kicking in. Sherman had only had salsa one other time in his life - the time they'd discovered Sherman was allergic.

Sherman had only been two years old, and Mr. Peabody had taken him to one of the first celebrations of _Dia de Los Muertos_ from three thousand years ago _._ The small Mexican village had been alive with color, laughter, and the heavenly scents of food. While Mr. Peabody had been distracted bartering with a young artist over a beautiful painting to hang in the penthouse, Sherman had waddled away and got his hands on some salsa at the snack table set up at the center of the village. When Mr. Peabody had turned back, he had found Sherman bright red, bleary-eyed, and near unconscious.

It had been one of the most frightening moments of Mr. Peabody's whole life. One wrong move, one tiny mistake, and his boy had almost been taken from him. If not for his quick thinking and the amazing speed of the WABAC as he rushed Sherman back home to a modern - day hospital, Sherman could have died. And now Mr. Peabody was having a horrible case of deja-vu.

"Sherman? Sherman?!" he shouted. "Say something, Sherman!"

The boy could only reply with a coughing fit. One hand went to touch his throat, while the other, unbelievably, remained wrapped around Hose B's horn. Tears began to stream from Sherman's eyes as his face reddened further.

"Jose! We have to call this off!" Mr. Peabody declared in desperation. "Sherman is allergic to salsa - you _knew that_ ," he growled suddenly, realizing the truth. "You did this on purpose!"

"Now, there, Mr. Pea-for-brains," Jose said, his calm voice enraging Mr. Peabody even more. "Ya'll know we can't just _call this off._ Where's the honor? I dunno about the Peabody family, but we Guapos finish what we start." Mr. Peabody felt Jose shrug above him and and saw him wave a lazy hand. "Another option, of course, would always be to forfeit."

" _Forfeit?"_ Mr. Peabody demanded. "I'd rather die than willingly relinquish my show to you!"

"It's funny you say that…" Jose laughed. "I'd check on your lil' buckaroo, if I was you. Like father, like son!"

Mr. Peabody's eyes flashed back to Sherman. The boy's eyes were half-closed, and he was slightly slumped over, a rash starting to cross his face as his lips blew up three times the normal size.

He looked worse than last time. How much longer could Mr. Peabody wait before it was too late?

"Please," Mr. Peabody begged. "This isn't fair. He's my son. He's just a child. Let me help him and then we can finish this!"

"You know my rules, doggie," Jose sneered.

Mr. Peabody gritted his teeth. The instinct rarely reared its ugly head - but, _oh_ , how he wanted to sink his canines into the Guapo brothers! How _dare_ they put Sherman in such danger - and for a silly talk show! He had one of Sherman's anti-allergy shots tucked away in his bow tie, but he couldn't even reach it underneath the ridiculous bull costume.

"Sherman!" Mr. Peabody cried out. "Get off of Hose B! I have your anti-allergy shot!"

Jose gave a great, ugly laugh of victory. "You heard the pooch, lil' buckaroo. Come get yer medicine!"

But, to everyone's shock, Sherman remained firmly planted atop Hose B. He narrowed his eyes at Jose, fire blazing behind the tears.

"Jose," Hose B said uneasily. "He's not givin' up! You said he'd give up as soon as he drank the salsa!"

"So you _did_ plan for this," Mr. Peabody snarled. "Oh, when I get my paws on you two, you'll be sorry you ever _considered_ hurting my son!" He softened his voice. "Sherman, listen to me. Get off of Hose B and come take your shot."

Sherman frantically shook his head, and Mr. Peabody's heart almost broke. Sherman knew what was going to happen if he got off Hose B. He'd forfeit the contest, and they would lose everything.

"Sherman." Mr. Peabody smiled weakly. "It's okay. We don't need the show. We don't need the penthouse. We just need each other. I can't do this without you, Sherman. _Please._ Get off Hose B and take your shot."

Mustering all his strength, Sherman finally flopped off of Hose B. The second Jose had stepped off of him, Mr. Peabody darted forward and injected Sherman with his medicine. "Sherman, I have to get you to the hospital," Mr. Peabody said, picking his boy up in his arms. Then he turned to the Guapo brothers, his voice steely and eyes hard as stone. "I hope you're happy. You canceled my show, won my home, and nearly killed my son. Take your win and shove it into your taco pudding." He looked up at the President of Television. "And _you_! If this is the type of _despicable_ sportsmanship you allow to take place under your supervision, then you don't _deserve_ _The Mr. Peabody and Sherman Show_. No show of mine will play alongside your tainted, cheating- allowing programming. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have to take my son to the hospital."

And so Mr. Peabody spun on his heel and marched quickly out of his penthouse to get Sherman help.

He didn't need the audience.

He didn't need the show.

He didn't even need his home.

He had Sherman. And that was all that mattered.


End file.
